


Net Force

by LunaDarkside



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Eventual Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Matchmaking, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 05:17:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11890830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaDarkside/pseuds/LunaDarkside
Summary: Ran decides it's high time for Shinichi and Kaito to get together. Awkward matchmaking ensues.





	Net Force

**Author's Note:**

> clean version available on ff.net. (if you'd prefer that.) otherwise, please enjoy! - luna

When Aoko walks into Ran’s house, her first thought is _I hope the walls are soundproof, because otherwise Ran is going to get sound complaints from everyone on the block._ Her second thought is _holy God did Hattori-kun somehow contract rabies_ , and that’s because Hattori is currently playing Mario Kart against her husband in a manner that involves a lot more animalistic teeth-baring and hindbrain-y growling and insulting of Saguru’s parentage than Aoko would expect from a nearing-thirty police inspector.

“Hi, babe. Sorry I’m late. Got caught up at work,” she calls as she toes off her shoes. Saguru squirms around where he’s trapped between a swearing Hattori and the arm of the sofa and gives her his I’m Too Proud to Admit That I Need Help But Please Save Me eyes, which she ignores like the loving and sadistic wife that she is, choosing instead to dig around for guest slippers.

“Aoko-chan!” Kazuha waves at her. She’s is stretched out on the couch beside her (mentally) eight-year-old husband, watching the TV screen with an expression of intense interest as she chatters endlessly into Hattori’s ear. Aoko thinks she’s shit-talking Saguru until she wanders within hearing range and hears her saying, “Aw, Heiji, could you not see that banana peel in the middle of the road? Are you serious? This is like the eighth time you’ve driven off the road. You’re not teaching the kids how to drive. Hm, maybe I’ll ask Hakuba-kun to do it instead. Oh, sorry, baby, did I make you mad?” The sound that Hattori emits is not dissimilar to a feral wolf.

Aoko changes courses for the kitchen, abandoning her husband to the Hattoris. She’s not sure if she imagines the whimper she hears as she closes the door to the living room behind her.

Ran is humming to herself as she pulls a tray of muffins out of the oven and sets them on the stove to cool. Her girlfriend is sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through—something bloody-looking (?) on her phone. Aoko recognizes the look on her face as Intense Detective Concentration.

Both she and Ran glance up when Aoko comes in. Sera grunts vaguely and offers a polite smile before she goes back to her dead bodies, brow furrowing. Ran lights up, beaming.

“Aoko-chan!” she squeals and skids across the kitchen to hug her. “It’s so good to see you! How’s everything? How’s Kaede-chan?”

“Probably driving the babysitter to tears,” Aoko replies, which startles a laugh out of Ran. Aoko’s not sure why, considering she’s not joking. The last four babysitters have all cited mental health as their reason for departure. Aoko’s a little concerned, actually, most especially because Saguru tried to placate her by insisting he was just the same when he was six, which is definitely not as reassuring as he thinks it is.

To take her mind off Kaede and the fact that she and Saguru will undoubtedly come home to the babysitter tied to a chair and Kaede gleefully plotting her reign of terror from in front of the TV, Aoko leans against the counter to watch Ran coax the muffins from the pan.

“Not that I mind,” she says, tugging her hair free of its ponytail, “but why are we doing this all of a sudden?” She peers around the empty kitchen, suddenly suspicious. “And where’s Kaito hiding? He’s not in your _room_ , is he?”

“The day I let Kuroba-kun into our bedroom is the day I break every bone in his body,” says Sera without looking up. Ran laughs a little, like _oh you_ , and flushes, because apparently threats of violence are flirting for the two of them. Aoko has long since come to the conclusion that none of her friends are entirely normal.

“I didn’t invite him or Shinichi,” Ran tells Aoko after a solid minute of staring heart-eyed at the top of Sera’s head. She finally tears her gaze away to meet Aoko’s eyes. When she sees whatever face Aoko’s making, she shakes her head. “No, it’s not like that. Neither of them has done anything wrong. I actually wanted to talk about them.”

“Uh, okay,” Aoko answers slowly. “So… why did you invite all of us over to do that?”

“You’ll see,” Ran informs her with a faintly evil grin. Aoko fights the overwhelming urge to take a step backwards.

Aoko does indeed see when Ran gathers them all in the living room, the Mario Kart tournament paused and Sera dragged away from her corpses for the moment. (Ran had to confiscate her phone before she was willing to come to the living room.)

“Dearly beloved,” Ran begins, “we are gathered here—”

“Nobody’s getting married,” Hattori interrupts, until his eyes go wide. Beside him, Kazuha looks as if she’s reconsidering ever marrying him. “Wait, are you and Sera getting married right now? Shouldn’t Kudou be here for that—”

“Shut up,” says Ran sweetly, in her _I know eighty-four ways to skin a man; would you like a hands-on demonstration?_ voice. Hattori goes instantly silent. Sera is staring at her besottedly. It’s honestly kind of sickening to watch. “We are gathered here today to discuss the Shinichi and Kuroba-kun situation.”

There’s a blank silence. Someone coughs. Aoko thinks it might be Saguru. She elbows him in the kidney, and he makes a choked sound and gives her a betrayed look, clutching at his side.

Ran sighs.

“Look around. What do we all have in common?” she asks, folding her arms over the front of her cat-printed apron and raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

“All of us are either a detective or in a relationship with a detective,” Aoko says. Ran opens her mouth, frowns, and then closes it, looking perturbed.

“Why are there so many detectives around here?” she mutters. “Anyway, no.”

“All of us have seen at least one dead body,” Saguru offers, which earns him an even harder elbow to the kidney. He doubles over, coughing, and peers up at Aoko as if she’s just burned his favorite deerstalker.

“Also true,” Sera comments thoughtfully before Ran scowls at her. “I’m just saying! He’s not wrong, babe.”

“We’re all stunningly good-looking,” Hattori drawls, and Kazuha smacks the back of his head. “Ow! What the hell, Kazuha!”

“Are you saying Kudou-kun and Kuroba-kun aren’t good looking?” she snaps, rolling her eyes. “Because we both know that’s not true.” Hattori gawks at her.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Am I gonna wake up one morning and find out you’ve left me for _Kudou_? What are we gonna tell the kids, huh? Oh, your mom? She left us for Uncle Shinichi and his _giant_ _mansion_ and _pretty face_ —”

“My point _was_ ,” Ran cuts in over Kazuha’s response, which has something to do with something called the “It’s Not Cheating if It’s Kudou Clause” (?), “that all of us here are in stable, loving relationships. Or. Well.” Aoko is impressed that her eyes don’t stray towards the Hattoris, who are now engaged what looks like a slap fight. “Something like that. All of us are settled down, and some of us even have kids. We’re all reaching that age where we want to slow down a little. Yet Shinichi and Kuroba-kun aren’t doing that. They’re not even together.” She raises her eyebrows significantly.

“So you’re saying,” Aoko starts, one eyebrow creeping upwards, “that we should… set them up?”

“Yeah. Well, more specifically, we should get them together,” Sera answers. Her hand, resting on Ran’s waist, is creeping towards her phone, which is still tucked into Ran’s apron pocket. Ran smacks her fingers away without looking, and Sera deflates.

“I don’t know if this is the best idea,” Kazuha announces, shoving her husband aside to angle an unconvinced eyebrow at Ran. “We shouldn’t force them together. There’re reasons why they’re not, you know.”

“Yeah, reasons like ‘because they’re idiots,’” mumbles Saguru. Aoko is inclined to agree.

Hattori is looking around as if he’s never seen any of them before in his life.

“What? Kudou and Kuroba? Since when has that been a thing? They like each other?” he asks, expression profoundly skeptical. He peers around the room, as if trying to find the cameras, before his brow furrows even deeper. “Wait, hang on. Kudou’s into dudes?”

“You met his last boyfriend!” Kazuha hisses at him. “Yamazaki? The guy with the perfect face and the shellfish allergy who ended up with all his hair shaved off after a week of dating Kudou-kun because Kuroba-kun got jealous?” Hattori blinks.

“Wait, _Yamazaki_? That guy Kudou brought with us when we got okonomiyaki? They weren’t just drinking buddies?”

“Kudou-kun introduced him as his boyfriend!”

“I thought he was joking!”

“ _They kissed in front of us_ ,” whisper-shrieks Kazuha. The look on Hattori’s face can only be described as utter bemusement.

“They weren’t drunk?”

“Oh my God, I married an idiot. I _procreated_ with an absolute idiot. Half of my children’s DNA is from a complete idiot,” Kazuha whispers in awe, looking slightly crazy around the eyes. “Oh my _God_.”

“I think that’s a little harsh,” Hattori says, stung.

“ _Anyway_.” Saguru clears his throat. “The point is, most of us with more than four brain cells”—Hattori’s rabid dog tendencies reappear in the form of low, gutteral growling—“can tell that Kuroba-kun and Kudou-kun are interested in each other, but neither of them will make a move. Either they don’t know how they feel, or they’re too scared to do anything about it.”

“Exactly!” Ran gives them all one of her patented I’m Pure and Innocent; Please Listen to Me smiles. “The two of them belong together. And I, for one, think that they’ve wasted enough time dancing around each other.” She bats her eyelashes, which, only Sera ever falls for that, but Aoko (and presumably everyone else) decides to humor her. “We should get them together!” Her smile goes sugary and threatening. “Right, everyone?”

“I’m gonna lose so many bro points over this,” Hattori grumbles, sliding down on the couch, and Kazuha lands a solid hit against the back of his head that sounds like someone hitting a watermelon with a jackhammer. Aoko winces.

“This is about Kudou-kun’s future happiness, you idiot,” Kazuha says over the sound of Hattori whimpering into his hands. “Aren’t you supposed to be his best friend, anyway? And Kudou-kun won’t sleep with you even if he isn’t with Kuroba-kun, so get over it!”

“You’re just jealous because of the time I came up with the It’s Not Cheating if it’s Kudou Clause! I was _drunk_ , okay? I would never _actually_ , like, sleep with him. Although, well, I dunno, he does have those eyelashes—”

“Right,” shouts Saguru over the slowly escalating argument. Aoko finally manages to look away from the nuclear minefield that is the Hattoris—it’s somehow morbidly fascinating, like watching slowed-down footage of a missile hitting a highly populated city—to see that her husband is waiting with his eyebrows lifted. “If you’re all done, I have an idea.”

“Oh yeah?” Aoko says, not particularly surprised. On a scale of Hattori to ten in terms of romantic ability, Saguru is about an eight. He’s probably the most romantic out of the detectives, at least. “What are you thinking, babe?” Saguru smiles and leans back, pushing a hand through his hair in that pretentious way Aoko secretly finds endearing.

“Well, I was thinking,” he begins.

* * *

Akira has been working at Le Coeur D’or for nearly two months by now, long enough that he’s used to the glitzy dress code and the unhelpfully dim mood lighting and soft violin music playing on loop and the sheer volume of pheromones floating around the restaurant on a regular basis. So far, he’s witnessed fifty-four proposals, twelve breakups, and five drink-throwing incidents. He likes to think that he’s pretty prepared for all sorts.

He wasn’t expecting a serial killer, though.

Well, okay. Serial killer, aka a guy in a good suit and a helmet of pomade (that’s still managed to lose against a herd’s worth of cowlicks) flipping through a stack of what look like screenshots of a very bloody and very realistic horror movie. Minako was in charge of his table until she got too skeeved out and shanghaied Akira into doing it by judicious application of her feminine wiles and even more judicious promises of premium cat food for the kitten he found sleeping in a gutter last week.

The things Akira does for Ichigo-chan.

Akira approaches the serial killer with his water pitcher held aloft. The guy glances up from a picture of—okay, that’s a decapitated body, Akira is Not Okay—and offers him a vague smile. He actually has a nice smile and a pretty face, but then again, there are hot sociopaths. Probably. Akira sweats a little.

“Would you like more water, sir?” he asks, trying for a smile. The guy shakes his head.

“No, thank you,” he says. As Akira turns to flee, he adds, “Hey, um, do you know if anyone’s come here asking after a blind date? I’m actually supposed to be waiting for someone.”

“Oh,” Akira stammers, a beat too late. He clutches his water pitcher a little closer to his vest. “I don’t think anyone like that’s showed up yet, sir.” Is this how the guy gets his victims? Blind dates?

“I see. Well, thank you anyway,” the serial killer sighs before he turns back to his body. He appears to be taking notes on the state of their bodies, which is _massively_ unnerving. Akira backs away just as a voice calls something indistinct. Both the serial killer and Akira look up just in time to see a man barreling towards them, looking way more excited than Akira would expect from someone who’s evidently friends with a serial killer.

“Shinichi!” the guy calls again, bouncing a little. He has tousled hair that looks as if he fought a tornado and lost and is tieless, his shirt partially untucked and unbuttoned against his collarbones. Akira steps out of the way so he can drop into the seat across from the serial killer. “What are you doing here, darling? I would’ve thought you’d be out on an investigation.”

“What are _you_ doing here, Kaito?” Shinichi, the serial killer (?), retorts, eyebrows lifted. “ _I’m_ here because Hakuba insisted that I needed to ‘get out a little’ and told me he was setting me up on a blind date.”

“Hey, me too!” Kaito, the serial killer’s friend (?), beams. He doesn’t bat an eye at the spread of corpse photos fanned out across the tablecloth. Akira is… confused. And also wondering if he can call the police without either of them noticing. “Hakuba basically kidnapped me and told me to get out of the car when we got here.” Kaito’s eyebrows do something unsettling and suggestive that makes Shinichi blush faintly and duck his head. Akira is mostly just disturbed. “Are you my date, then, Shinichi-chan?” Shinichi affects a scowl, but he doesn’t look displeased.

“I don’t know what kind of joke this is supposed to be, but if Hakuba’s paying, I’m getting the lobster,” he says with a shrug. Kaito clucks.

“Well, then, as your pseudo-date, I’m confiscating all case materials,” he announces, and begins gathering Shinichi’s collection. He makes a face at one of these. “How can you think about murder right before dinner?” Shinichi sniffs and sits back.

“It’s a talent.”

“Mmhm,” Kaito hums, unconvinced, before he starts to tuck the photos away into a folder. Akira breathes an internal sigh of relief. “What if you’d actually had a blind date? They would’ve thought you were some kind of murderer.” He casts a sly glance at Akira and winks. Akira flushes and inches backwards. Oblivious, Shinichi frowns and crosses his arms across his chest.

“I would’ve just explained that I’m a homicide detective, and if that was a dealbreaker, clearly they wouldn’t have been the right person for me,” he informs Kaito primly before his scowl deepens. “And, come on, the crime scene pictures are _not_ that bad. You see worse stuff in PG-13 movies these days.”

Akira sees Kaito eye one of photos doubtfully and can’t help but agree vehemently. Spinal cord doesn’t tend to make _that_ much of an appearance in PG-13 movies.

“Anyway,” Shinichi continues, “I wouldn’t have broken out the case files if you hadn’t been so late.” He raises an eyebrow, pointed. Kaito laughs.

“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to make my date wait so long,” he smirks, “but it takes time to look this good.” He motions down at himself. Shinichi looks unimpressed. Akira agrees, personally—the guy’s hair looks more “rolled out of bed three minutes ago” and less “artfully styled”, for one—but that’s when Kaito rolls his eyes and waves a hand, prompting Akira to startle and hurry over.

“May I take your orders, sirs?” he asks, barely managing not to trip over his words as he fumbles for his notepad. Kaito smiles up at him, and Akira is abruptly one hundred percent certain that he knows Akira was eavesdropping on them.

“I’ll have the chicken a l’orange, and Shinichi will have the beef bourguignon,” Kaito announces. Shinichi squawks.

“Why are you ordering for me?”

“That’s what I do for my dates.” Kaito grins and reaches across the table to drag a finger along Shinichi’s throat, ending by tilting Shinichi’s chin up until their eyes meet. Shinichi grimaces, pink along the jawline. Akira is struck by the ridiculous thought that he’s too young to be watching this. “So of course I’ll do it for you too, darling.”

“I doubt you get many dates with that kind of overbearing attitude,” mutters Shinichi, jerking his head away from Kaito. Akira’s not sure, but he thinks Shinichi looks flustered, even as he affects indifference and looks at a point far beyond Kaito’s shoulder. Kaito bats his eyelashes at him.

“Well, what were you going to order anyway?” he asks, voice silky in a way that makes Akira vividly uncomfortable. Shinichi remains tellingly silent. Kaito’s expression is the definition of shit-eating.

“Just because you know what I order at French restaurants doesn’t mean you get to act like a dick,” Shinichi says after a minute, tipping his head to one side as he regards Kaito with narrowed, challenging eyes. Kaito just smirks back at him. It feels as if the thermostat has been cranked up. Or maybe they’ve all been transported to one of the hotter circles of hell.

“Um,” Akira finally cuts in after a minute of charged eye contact, shifting uncomfortably. “One chicken a l’orange and one beef bourguignon for the two of you, then?” When Kaito gives him a lazy smile, he scribbles it down on his notepad and bows. “I’ll just—put your order in, shall I?” He practically runs to the kitchen. He thought Shinichi being a serial killer was bad, but apparently the sexual tension is more likely to kill him first.

* * *

“So how did the blind date go?” Hakuba asks the second Shinichi sets foot in the office. He would try to be a little more delicate, as it were, but it cost him an hour and most of his dignity just to convince Kaito to go on the date and another fifty minutes and a harrowing incident with a comb to get Kaito into a relatively nice state of appearance. His pride would really like some validation that it was all worth it and Kaito and Shinichi are ready to skip off into the sunset and adopt underprivileged children to raise as their own.

Shinichi, who’s got half a croissant stuffed in his mouth and is in the process of sitting down at his desk, scowls at him.

“You could’ve told me it was just Kaito,” he sighs, pulling the croissant out from between his teeth. “I went in expecting to have to sit through two hours with some random person you met during an investigation or something.”

“I guess,” Hakuba replies, tapping a finger against the edge of his desk (possibly too obsessively, if the weird look Shinichi gives him is any indication). He clears his throat, trying to seem nonchalant as he twirls a pen with his free hand. “But how did the actual date go? Did the two of you have a good time?”

“Yeah,” Shinichi says and shrugs. Hakuba feels his eye twitch when Shinichi doesn’t elaborate and chooses instead to take a bite out of his croissant.

“What did you two… do?” asks Hakuba after a moment of watching Shinichi chew. Shinichi lifts an eyebrow at him, and he sighs. “I just want to know that the money I spent on your four-course dinner wasn’t wasted.”

“Oh. Well. We ate, we hung out for a little, and then we went our separate ways,” Shinichi answers. He’s starting to look a little perturbed. “That’s all. Nothing unusual happened.” His eyes narrow into what Aoko terms Intense Detective Concentration. “Why? What were you expecting to happen?”

Abort, abort, abort. Hakuba affects a laugh and reaches over to ruffle his hair. Shinichi makes a sound like a parrot getting pinched and gives Hakuba a horrified look, swatting his hands away.

“Calm down, Kudou-kun. I just wanted to see how my prank went. You know that when I don’t have anything to hold over Kuroba-kun’s head he starts trying to do things like kidnap my daughter or dye my hair. He only behaves when I have blackmail.” Hakuba raises his eyebrows, and Shinichi ducks out of his reach and sighs, a wry smile curling his mouth. He’s probably remembering the time Hakuba woke up with magenta hair, which Kaito had done for no discernible reason.

“I guess you’re not wrong,” he agrees after a minute before he turns back to his croissant, biting into with the fervor of a starved piranha. Once his attention is absorbed into one of the many crime reports strewn across his desk, Hakuba heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. Well. It would’ve been too easy if one date had undone years of aimless pining.

* * *

Emi has thought of Kudou Shinichi as her worst rival ever since the time Kaito showed up at the television station late for his shoot, laughing apologetically and clad in one of Shinichi’s horrible Touto University t-shirts as he rubbed at the back of his neck. Apparently his and Shinichi’s “game night” had run a bit long and he’d fallen asleep in the middle of a round of Mario Kart or something equally asinine. _Game night_. The idea of Kudou spending any amount of time pressed up against Kaito’s side on a couch, pretending to _game_ when he’s really just angling for Kaito, makes Emi’s skin crawl.

As if Kudou could ever make her darling Kaito happy. No one that obsessed with murder can be good for him. She scowls at her reflection in the vanity and pushes her makeup artist’s hands away. One day she’s going to show Kaito just how messed up of a person Kudou is. One day she’s going to—

“Morning, Emi-san,” Kaito calls, knocking on the door as he sticks his head into her dressing room. Emi jumps before she breaks into a smile. He looks delicious as usual, all styled bedhead and his shirt tapered down around his waist, and Emi sighs dreamily—before Kudou pops up behind him, offering her a faint, uncomfortable smile. Emi glares at him, and he sinks back a step. Unfortunately, he looks more confused than anything. As if he’s not trying to seduce Kaito away with his charms.

“Kai-chan!” Emi coos when Kaito blinks and looks between her and Kudou. She floats out of her chair and comes to a stop in front of him, batting her eyelashes and inadvertently getting a flake of mascara in her eye. Ugh. She soldiers on, though. “You look _ravishing_ as always.”

“As do you,” Kaito returns, smiling even as his gaze fails to move below her eyes to confirm her ravishingness. Emi would pout if Kudou wasn’t already lifting his eyebrows at her. Judgy as always. With a last poisonous glare at him, she refocuses her attention on Kaito.

“So what brings you to my boudoir this fine evening, Kai-chan?” she purrs, leaning in closer. Kudou does the same, as if he doesn’t know he’s not wanted. Kaito appears not to notice the idiot butting in, because he tilts to allow Kudou more room.

“Well, actually, we were wondering if you’d… sent me a token of your affections, recently,” Kaito begins. Emi doesn’t miss the _we_ ; she can’t help the sour grimace that spreads across her face. “I got a note from a secret admirer, and we were just trying to figure out who might’ve sent it.”

“We thought you might be a suspect, so to speak. Considering the time you sent Kaito a congratulatory caviar basket,” Kudou chimes in, and Emi rolls her eyes at him. How was she supposed to know Kaito is deathly afraid of fish paraphernalia?

Setting aside her annoyance at Kudou’s entire existence, Emi pauses to contemplate the situation. She hasn’t sent Kaito anything recently. But guessing from the fact that Kudou is looming behind Kaito like some kind of obsessive bodyguard, Kudou didn’t send it either. And that means that there’s the possibility of another person trying to get into Kaito’s proverbial pants, which means that Emi needs to dig for information.

“Well, I don’t know. I might’ve, I might not have. You’ll have to refresh my memory. What was sent to you, again?” she hedges, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. Kaito gives her an indulgent smile while Kudou looks at her as if she’s just suggested they all jump into a pit of piranhas for laughs.

“This was the note I got with the two dozen red roses and gourmet chocolates,” Kaito says, reaching into his pocket to pull out a thin, crisp card, which he presents to Emi with a shrug.

 _Roses are red_  
Violets are blue  
You’re really hot  
We should totally screw.

 _Love,_  
Your secret admirer xxx  
(those are kisses, but we can also do XXX-rated things if you want!!)

Emi looks up. For a surreal moment, she and Kudou share a look of utter, unadulterated horror. It’s probably the first time they’ve ever agreed on anything.

“Yeah, so.” Kaito rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t really think it was you, but we wanted to check anyway.” He tugs the card from Emi’s loose grasp. “I really think it’s some kind of terrible prank, but Shinichi wants to figure out who it’s from, so.”

“Well,” Emi says, “I think we can all agree that it’s not from me.” Kaito nods, tucking the card back away.

“Right. Sorry to have wasted your time, Emi-san.” Emi works up a smile.

“Oh, no, no. Any time spent with you is time well spent, Kai-chan,” she laughs and pats him on the shoulder before he and Kudou bow out. The door closes softly behind them. Emi exhales slowly.

She may have to revise her opinion on Kudou. At least if Kaito ends up with him, he won’t end up with whoever his secret admirer is.

* * *

“So your plan was a bust. Kudou-kun mostly just got all pissy, the way he does whenever someone brings up that Nakamura Emi woman, and Kuroba-kun just thought your poem was funny,” Dad announces as he closes the front door. Kaede looks up from her algebra textbook and blinks at him. What plan? She doesn’t have a plan. (Well, other than the one with fitting Genta-niisan in the washing machine the next time Dad and Mom decide that he’s a reasonable babysitter, which he _isn’t_. But Dad doesn’t know about that plan anyway.)

“Dad, what are you talking about?” she asks.

“Nothing for you to worry about, Kaede. It’s just something with your mother,” he says, ruffling his hair as he sits down beside her at the kitchen table. He glances down at her textbook, then taps one of the equations lightly. “Don’t forget order of operations on that one, sweetheart.” Kaede nods obediently, even though she _obviously_ wouldn’t have missed that. Sometimes Dad treats her as if she’s not six entire years old.

Mom appears in the doorway to the kitchen as Kaede is rearranging the equation.

“Did I hear you say that my plan failed?” she sighs, wiping her hands on her apron. When Dad nods, she shakes her head with a groan. “Well, it was a long shot. I was still hoping it might work.”

“Yeah, we all were. But when I ran into Kudou-kun—along with Kuroba-kun, who, might I add, was camped out at Kudou-kun’s desk despite the fact that he’s supposed to have an actual job—he just glared at me until I got called out on a case. Kuroba-kun, on the other hand, seemed to find the whole thing hilarious. He showed me a copy of your poem.” Dad’s eyebrows do something strange. “Good job on that one, by the way.”

“I was hoping it would piss Kudou-kun off enough to get him to make a move, but I guess it was too much to hope for.” Mom pushes a loose strand of hair away from her face. “At least it made Kudou-kun jealous.”

“Just inciting jealousy probably isn’t enough at this point. They’re so used to ignoring their feelings, after all,” remarks Dad, leaning forward to balance his face in his hands. “I messaged the group chat earlier, and Mouri-san decided that we’re going to have a strategy meeting tomorrow night, since both our plans failed. I think Kazuha-san said she might have an idea.” He gives Kaede a considering look. “You think Genta-kun will be free to take care of Kaede?”

Kaede tries not to smirk too obviously.

* * *

Erika is halfway through her margarita when someone—two someones, actually—come shuffling into the hotel bar together, talking furiously in an undertone. She sets her glass down and turns to glance over at them. It’s two men, one messy-haired with a charmingly crooked smile and the other delicate-featured and pretty in an intimidating way, and they’re leaning towards each other as if tugged together by some inexplicable gravitational pull. Oh, Erika thinks, and turns back to her drink. Just another couple on the retreat, probably. She sighs to herself. If only Jun hadn’t been called away by that emergency patient.

She’s tracing patterns in the condensation on the bartop when the couple drifts closer towards her, taking the seats two stools away from her. They’re talking in hushed tones, heads bent towards each other. Curious, Erika tilts her head towards them to listen in.

“I can’t believe Kazuha would give _us_ the tickets for a couples’ retreat,” the pretty one is mumbling as he puts his elbows on the counter and cradles his head in his hands. He seems unreasonably embarrassed, considering he’s there with someone as handsome as his boyfriend. Erika tsks to herself. Ungrateful.

“Well, it can’t be helped. The babysitter cancelled on them. They couldn’t just leave the kids home alone for the weekend just to come here and hang out,” his boyfriend points out, sounding as if they’ve had this conversation many times already. Pretty Boy doesn’t look placated.

“Genta, Ayumi, Mitsuhiko, _and_ Haibara could _not_ have all been busy.”

“The twins hate Genta, and they’re scared of Haibara. Understandably. And Ayumi and Mitsuhiko had plans,” the boyfriend—Erika decides to call him Handsome—reminds him. His smile is slipping a little with every passing breath. Pretty Boy is oblivious.

“But they could’ve given the tickets to the Hakubas,” he says, poutingly. The handsome one scoffs and elbows him in the side.

“As if Hattori would ever willingly give something nice to Hakuba. Maybe if it was a wasp’s nest and not tickets to a luxury couples’ retreat.”

“What about Ran and Sera? They could’ve given the tickets to them.”

“Mouri-san has a cold. It wouldn’t have been worth it if they came and she had to stay in the room for all the activities,” Handsome sighs before he presses his lips together and looks away. From her vantage point, Erika sees the line of his mouth go soft and sad at the corners and feels something not unlike sympathy blossom in her stomach. Poor guy.

Displaying the emotional sensitivity of a bag of rocks, Pretty Boy scowls at him and prods at him with a finger. Erika sighs and rubs at her temples.

“What?” Pretty Boy demands. Handsome hesitates.

“Nothing.” Pretty Boy’s eyebrows lift in disbelief, which proves he must have at least one brain cell. Handsome sighs and drops his face into his hands. “Well. Maybe I’m starting to think that you really don’t want to be spending the weekend at a luxury resort with me,” Handsome mumbles. Two and a half margaritas and most of a bar away, and Erika can _hear_ him sulking. She takes a long sip of her drink. She needs something stronger if she’s going to watch this real-life soap opera for much longer.

“You know that’s not the problem,” Pretty Boy groans, rubbing at his forehead and looking uncomfortable. He clears his throat. One of his hands lifts to rub nervously at the back of his neck. “It’s just the—the labeling that’s bothering me.” When Handsome blinks at him, he sighs. “You know, because we’re… not a couple. That would be…” He coughs out a laugh so artificial it might as well be cherry-flavored. “You know what I mean. We’re not like that. We’re… you know. Right?”

 _Dear God_ , Erika thinks as Handsome goes statue-tense under his well-cut dress shirt and looks as if he’s approaching the verge of tears at warp speed. _This is just sad to watch._

“Right,” echoes Handsome, clearing his throat as he slides ungracefully off the barstool. He stumbles a few steps before he rights himself. “I’m… going back to the room.” He gives Pretty Boy a short, acknowledging nod, all traces of the roguish smile he’d worn on the way in swallowed up by the way he hunches over, shoulders tucked in as he flees from the bar. Pretty Boy stares after him, lips parted and brow furrowed in typical clueless male confusion. He looks lost and hurt, and also a bit as if someone paid him to catch flies with his mouth.

Erika magnanimously decides to intervene, because this whole thing is reaching a level of pathetic that she never thought she’d see outside of daytime dramas.

“You’d better go after your man, honey,” she tells him, leaning across the empty stools to poke him in the shoulder. Pretty Boy jumps in surprise before he turns to stare at her, uncomprehending.

“Excuse me?” he asks, politeness warring with bemusement. Erika rolls her eyes. At least he’s pretty.

“Look, sweetheart, you’re lovely and all, but your window for securing really good make-up sex is closing pretty damn quick. So I’m just saying. Take advantage of the opportunity,” she advises him, raising her eyebrows significantly and gesturing at the door. Pretty Boy blinks for a solid twelve seconds before he goes bright red.

“We’re not—I’m not—he doesn’t—” he stammers before he sinks lower in his barstool. “I think you’re misunderstanding something.”

Erika is abruptly very annoyed at the situation. _Her_ man couldn’t even be here, stuck in Nagoya tending to some kid with a defective heart or something actually important, contributing to society in a meaningful way instead of downing pina coladas next to her, and these two assholes are wasting the complimentary champagne and rose petals and California king for no reason other than stupidity. It’s painful, is what it is, painful and a damn shame.

“I’m misunderstanding jackshit, pretty boy. You _do_ and he _does_. Don’t be daft, darling, it doesn’t suit you,” she snaps and gives Pretty Boy a push off the stool, probably harder than necessary. He stumbles for a few steps before he turns back to give her a complicated, slightly betrayed look.

“I,” he begins before Erika glares at him and he stutters, “Really, we’re not like that, I swear. I mean, maybe—maybe I do, but he doesn’t. Really,” he adds at whatever expression Erika is making. “He would’ve… said, or something. That’s the kind of guy he is. He doesn’t feel like I do.” He swallows audibly before he sits back down, out of her reach this time. “He’ll be fine on his own for a little.”

Erika hopes the unimpressed look on her face is saying enough.

“Suit yourself,” she says before downing the rest of her drink and lifting a hand to flag down the bartender. She needs something way stronger than a margarita if she’s going to be sharing the bar with an idiot like Pretty Boy.

* * *

“I bought those tickets for them,” Kazuha is muttering next to him. There is a distinctly unhinged edge to her voice, which, well, Heiji should probably be used to that, after eight years of marriage. She turns onto her other side, the bed creaking with the movement. “I spent over eighty thousand yen on them. I _did_ that. I could’ve bought a… I could’ve bought… well, I could’ve bought something nice for us. Instead, I sacrificed eighty thousand yen at the altar of their stupidity. I never should’ve listened to Ran-chan.”

Heiji has been trying to sleep for the last three hours. Usually, he’d indulge his wife’s whims for a little longer, because as much as Kazuha makes him want to tear his own hair out sometimes, he’s still disgustingly weak for her.

However, he’s been working on the same goddamn arson case for the past week (an unspoken punishment for running unarmed into a conflict with a serial killer or something like that; Heiji is pretty sure his dad just likes abusing his power), and this morning the twins got into a fight and broke two plates from the wedding set he and Kazuha got from Kudou, and there is not a single Advil left in the entire house, so _forgive_ Heiji for being annoyed enough to grit his teeth and kick Kazuha.

Kazuha squawks as if he’s shoved a branding iron against her calf and whips around so quickly the bed makes a sound reminiscent of a dying animal.

“ _Heiji_ ,” she shrieks in a whisper. Her foot makes violent and pointed contact with his ankle. “ _What_ the _hell_ is _wrong with you_.”

“Shut up about the stupid tickets,” Heiji insists, narrowly dodging the elbow she launches at his face. He twists away from her until he’s hovering at the edge of the mattress. “I want to get to sleep sometime before the break of dawn.”

“Is this because you’re jealous of Kuroba-kun?” Kazuha hisses, gathering the comforter around her. Her hair is sticking up on one side, frizzing wildly. Heiji mashes his face into the pillow.

“I don’t know _where_ you got the idea that I’m madly in love with Kudou, but you’re wrong, oh my _God_ ,” he shouts, muffled and also possibly smothering himself. Kazuha makes a dubious sound halfway between a scoff and a snort, and Heiji scowls. He emerges from the pillow to wrap one hand around her wrist and yank her towards him. Caught off guard, she goes easily, squawking in surprise and glaring at him all the while.

She melts into him, though, going relaxed and pliant when he gently tugs her hair away from her face and presses his mouth to her collarbone, working his way up to where her pulse is starting to quicken just below her ear. She smells good, soft and warm and Kazuha. Once she’s appropriately relaxed, pushing up into his touch, he pulls back just enough to give her the eyebrows.

“In case you forgot, I married _you_ , not Kudou.”

“Hmm,” says Kazuha, looking as though she wishes she had a better comeback but is having a hard time thinking of one at this particular moment. Heiji grins and lowers his face back down to her throat.

“I’ll show you how much I don’t care about Kudou,” he murmurs into her neck, and he can feel Kazuha’s breath hitch as he does just that.

* * *

“Babe, is this really a good idea,” Sera asks for possibly the eighth time since they left the house. She has to break into a jog to catch up with Ran, who’s careening up Shinichi’s front walk as if she’s actually looking forward to—this. “Babe. _Babe_.”

Her beautiful, intelligent, lovely, clinically insane girlfriend just grins back at her, continuing on her merry way.

“I really think we can do this, Masumi. We can definitely do better than Aoko-chan did. The direct approach is sure to work,” she chirps before she twirls up the steps and reaches Shinichi’s front door. She’s wearing a gauzy floral dress that does something unspeakably attractive to her figure, and her hair is reflecting the light, gone caramel and molten against the sunset. Sera is violently torn between wanting to ogle her for about the next five years and wanting to drag her back home because as much as Sera loves Shinichi as a friend, she has Lines when it comes to Ran, and even Kudou Shinichi doesn’t get to cross them.

“Are we even sure Kuroba-kun is around,” Sera tries in a desperate last bid before Ran rings the doorbell. Ran glances back at her just in time to see Sera trip up the last step and brain herself on Shinichi’s front door, which, um, _ow_ , there goes a few hundred brain cells. The smirk on Ran’s face says that she’s trying not to laugh as she flips a bit of hair over her shoulder and draws a hand down the front of her dress, either to brush away lint or drive Sera insane. Possibly both.

“He’s definitely around. He and Shinichi have a gaming night every Friday, which I’m pretty sure is code for a date night,” Ran says before she frowns. “Although I’m not sure they even know it’s a date night.”

“Right.” Sera deflates. No way out of it but through, she guesses, and goes to stand beside Ran just as the front door opens and a laughing Shinichi sticks his head out. His expression goes shuttered the second he sees them, the laugh dying halfway out his throat.

“Ran. Sera,” he acknowledges, sounding cautious. “Is there a reason why you’re here? You could’ve called ahead if there was something that you wa—” He goes silent with a sound not unlike a squeak and stumbles backwards, eyes wide, when Ran pushes the door open with the tip of her stiletto and leans against the doorframe. Sera feels a flash of something like abject horror when she hooks a thumb around the strap of her dress, tugging forward to expose a lot more skin than Sera would like Shinichi to see.

“Shinichi, I have a proposition for you,” Ran announces with the smoothness of a seasoned escort. She bats her eyelashes at him. “Well, _we_ have a proposition for you.”

The look on Shinichi’s face suggests that he just opened his front door expecting a pizza deliveryman and got a platoon of armed crocodiles crowding his doormat instead. He averts his gaze from Ran, choosing instead to bore holes at Sera with his eyes. Sera does her best to look as if she’s a hundred percent down with what’s happening right now and not planning the best way to grab Ran and make a break for it.

“Sera, what the hell,” hisses Shinichi, his expression reaching unhealthy levels of terrified (understandable, that). Sera clears her throat and pastes on a smirk, which must be sufficiently seductive, because Shinichi’s eye twitches violently.

“Ran and I were just thinking,” Sera—well, she tries for a purr but probably lands closer to a murmur. Shinichi looks distinctly seasick. “We were thinking we might want to, you know, spice up the bedroom.” Shinichi’s face drains of color until he’s roughly the color of a bridal gown. Sera feels sort of bad for him, but then Ran pulls up the hem of her skirt and she gets sort of distracted. “And who would be a better addition to our bedroom than you, Kudou-kun?” she adds, a beat too late.

“This isn’t happening,” Shinichi says, casting his eyes heavenward. He sounds as if he’s hoping that if he says it with enough conviction, it’ll be true. A part of Sera is kind of offended that he’s that horrified by the idea of sleeping with them, but mostly she’s just relieved.

“You’re starting to hurt my feelings, Shinichi,” Ran pouts before she untangles her hand from her dress to lay a hand against Shinichi’s chest, pushing him lightly until he’s backed up against the nearest wall. Shinichi looks torn between the urge to violently yank Ran’s hand off of him and the understanding that both Ran and Sera could easily snap him in half. Sera takes his indecision as a chance to slither up to him and cage him in with one arm. Shinichi whimpers.

Kaito chooses that moment to come trotting out of the living room with his eyebrows raised quizzically and a can of soda in one hand.

“Shinichi, what’s taking so lo…ng.” He trails off, his eyes flicking from Ran, who’s basically twined herself around Shinichi from the legs up, to Sera, who’s hovering over him with one arm braced against the wall, to Shinichi, whose face implies that he sincerely wishes he was dead, then back again, this time quicker. His expression sub-zeros. His hand tightens around his soda, as if he’s seriously considering hurling it at either of them and stealing Shinichi away.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks in a tone that tries and fails to be light, a ton of bricks dropped out an eighth-floor window. Ran smirks—Sera doesn’t miss it, and honestly, why and how did anyone ever think Ran was an angel?—before she turns to look at Kaito, her face going innocent.

“Oh, sorry, Kuroba-kun. I didn’t know you were here,” she lies, leaning back against Shinichi until she’s plastered to his front. Shinichi makes a strangled, gurgly noise, as if someone’s mashed a dead frog against his cheek, and Kaito’s face tightens at the edges.

“Shinichi, are they bothering you?” he asks, glowering. Shinichi opens his mouth, and Sera digs an elbow in between his ribs. Shinichi wheezes. Kaito’s scowl deepens. “Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but I don’t think Shinichi’s enjoying this.”

“Oh, but who wouldn’t want to spend the night with Masumi and me?” purrs Ran, reaching behind herself to run a hand down Shinichi’s cheek. Shinichi nearly chokes. Kaito’s hand tightens around his can, which creaks in pain. If he’s not careful, he’s going to end up spraying Coke all over Shinichi’s hardwood floors, and not in a fun euphemistic way.

“Shinichi may not,” is all Kaito says, though, through gritted teeth. Sera gets the feeling that he’s remembering how there was a window of time when they were all in their hormonal teen period during which everyone thought Ran and Shinichi, who were madly in love at the time, were going to ride off into the sunset and have a June wedding and produce frighteningly intelligent spawn. They fell out of love, suddenly and violently, after the whole Conan thing came out, but. Kaito looks as if he doesn’t quite remember that part.

Shinichi finally recovers his voice.

“Thanks, um, Ran, Sera,” he gets out, clearing his throat. Ran twists to bat her eyelashes at him, which makes him flinch and pull away so sharply he knocks his head against the wall. Kaito twitches at the sound. “You’re both, um… lovely.” Sera gets the distinct feeling that he was thinking a wildly different adjective. “But I’m, well, not… interested. Sorry.”

Sera slides a glance over at Kaito to gauge his reaction. He looks a strange combination of relieved and conflicted, which is good enough in her books. She raises her eyebrows at Ran, who nods and peels herself off of Shinichi.

“Oh, well,” she laughs, straightening her dress and flicking a hand through her hair. “It was just a thought.” She grins and steps out the door, movements graceful as she skips down the front steps. Honestly, Shinichi has to be a complete idiot to turn her down. His loss, Sera thinks, half possessive and half pitying, before she straightens, leaning away from Shinichi.

“You’re not so bad, Kudou-kun,” she announces, patting down his front in a manner she hopes is friendly enough. Shinichi looks more as if he’d rather be mauled by a rabid bear than stand there and be touched by her, so maybe not. She’s on the verge of apologizing when Ran’s voice drifts back towards them.

“Masumi, just because Shinichi’s not joining us doesn’t mean I don’t have plans for tonight,” she calls, a smirk all too audible in her tone, and yeah, okay, screw Shinichi, Sera’s out of there. She salutes Shinichi before she trips out the door, chasing after Ran. Kaito and Shinichi’s eyes are heavy on her back.

“How do you think it went?” Sera asks, breathless, when she reaches Ran. Ran, sauntering down the sidewalk with her chin lifted, grins.

“I think it went well. Kuroba-kun looked ready to eviscerate me and then throw Shinichi over his shoulder like a caveman,” she says cheerfully, eyes twinkling, and Sera laughs and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

Well, it’s not their problem anymore. It’s all up to Kaito now.

* * *

Kaito can’t be trusted, apparently.

Ran gawps at Shinichi before she sets down her teacup with enough force to jostle the saucer. Shinichi makes a face at that (understandable; they’re using the antique filigreed set Yukiko gave Shinichi after his last promotion).

“You’re telling me that after we left, _nothing_ happened? You just went back to playing Mario Kart like—like I didn’t throw myself at you?”

Shinichi frowns at her and sets down his own teacup without so much as a clink.

“Yeah,” he replies, blinking quickly. “I mean, it was Super Smash Bros, not Mario Kart, but basically. Kaito was a little weirded out for a while”—he pauses here to give her a reprimanding look—“which is understandable, considering that neither of us was expecting my best friend and her girlfriend to proposition me in my own house.”

“Oh my God.” Ran exhales her entire lung capacity and presses her thumbs against the bridge of her nose. She loves Shinichi. She really does. And she wants him to settle down and be happy and stop dancing around Kaito, because that stopped being cute years ago. But she’s starting to think that nothing is ever going to be enough to shove the two of them together, and someday she’s going to be eighty-four and in a nursing home, stuck listening to Shinichi wax poetic about the way Kaito’s eyes look in the moonlight .

What a horrifying thought.

“We need to talk about that, by the way,” Shinichi is saying when she tunes back in. He’s glaring at her now. “Ran, you know I’d never—do anything with you and Sera. You’re both my friends. And that’s not really a thing I’m into doing with my friends.” Ran arches an eyebrow.

“You’d be into doing it with Kuroba-kun, and he’s your friend.”

She’s vindicated to see his face flame bright red before he ducks his head, avoiding her eyes. God, could he get any more shoujo heroine?

“That’s—that’s different,” Shinichi mumbles, because of course he does. _Ugh_. Ran is sick of this.

“I think we both know that you and Kuroba-kun are into each other. _Very_ into each other. And everyone’s tired of watching you guys pretend that there’s nothing there.” Ran pauses. “You guys are getting to, you know, that age where you want to settle down, and I’m not trying to _imply_ anything, but—”

Shinichi turns a baleful eye on her.

“I’m getting enough of the ‘where are my grandkids’ speech from my mom, Ran,” he sighs, rubbing at his temples. He frowns at her. “And maybe you’re not _trying_ to imply anything, but you’re still doing it. You think I should settle down with Kaito.”

“Well, yeah,” Ran says after a minute. At Shinichi’s disgruntled scowl, she reaches across the table to take his hands in hers. “Listen. Shinichi. I love you, and I lo… okay, maybe I don’t love Kuroba-kun, but I like him well enough. And I know both of you have your pride, and you’re both scared to take the next step, but you have to know that he loves you and you love him. And you two would be really good together. I just want you to do something about it before it’s too late. Okay?”

“Sure, Ran,” Shinichi mutters, clearly embarrassed, but at least he looks thoughtful as he tugs his hands out of her grip and leans back in his chair. Ran smiles at him and picks up her teacup.

She really hopes that was enough to get him to make a move, because Hattori’s plan is next, and nobody wants to see that.

* * *

“ _Hattori_!” Shinichi is shouting at a door when Kaito comes awake. His head aches in a distinctly throbbing way that suggests some kind of tranquilizer, and when he lifts one hand to scrub at the crick in his neck, he finds a slim dart stuck in the skin behind his ear. It’s one of Shinichi’s old tranquilizer watch darts, if he’s not mistaken. He plucks it out with a wince before working his handkerchief out of his pocket to fold it up in.

“Not that I’m particularly opposed to waking up in a room with you, tantei-kun,” he grumbles and is gratified to see Shinichi whip around, face going relieved and also a bit red, “but an explanation might be nice.”

Shinichi peels himself away from the door to come sit beside him, making a face at the threadbare carpeting. They’re in what looks like a supply closet of some kind, which Kaito recognizes from all the blueprints he’d studied in order to plan the heist he’d held here. Some foreign dignitary had brought her diamond tiara while visiting Japan, and Kaito had decided to hold a heist at the hotel she’d been staying at. Hattori and Kazuha had deigned to show up, for whatever reason. Kaito had been in and out of the dignitary’s room within an hour, tiara firmly in hand. Everything had gone off without a hitch.

Or so Kaito had thought.

“Hattori stole my watch and darted you when I was in the bathroom, and when I came out, he dragged me into this room and locked the door from the outside,” Shinichi explains, leaning against the rack of bleach behind him. Kaito missed it earlier, but he looks as if he’s off a two-day investigation, collar undone around the hollow of his throat and hair ruffled in the back. Still gorgeous, though.

“Did he give you any indication when he’d be back?” Kaito asks, pushing down the hint of confused trepidation in his tone. Lately, there seem to have been a lot of weird occurrences that have been making him itch to give in and admit his overgrown crush to Shinichi. The whole thing with Ran and Sera, for example, which had made his blood boil more than a heist ever had, and the time a few weeks ago when they ended up staying at a luxury resort that had pheromones practically pumped into the air and they’d shared the huge, rose-strewn bed because Shinichi had pointed out that it was more than big enough for both of them with a careless shrug. Kaito can’t tell if the universe is yelling at him to get on with it or it’s just him reading into things. He’s not sure which he wants it to be.

“I’m guessing we’ll be here for a while, considering that I think Hattori’s gone now.” Shinichi groans and scrubs a hand down his face. He offers Kaito a wry smile. “At least it’s a pretty big supply closet.”

“You always find a way to look on the bright side, don’t you, darling? Just one of the many things I adore about you.” Kaito grins and wiggles his eyebrows. Shinichi narrows his eyes at him. He looks like a suspicious cat.

“And you always find a way to be an incorrigible flirt. I’m on to you, Kuroba,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest and tipping his head back to squint at Kaito.

“So _cold_ ,” gasps Kaito, mock-affronted. He presses one hand to his heart, mostly to see how Shinichi rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance despite how he smiles. Kaito loves that about Shinichi, that even when Kaito annoys him, he’s never _really_ annoyed.

They sit in silence for a moment. Shinichi looks thoughtful for a long moment, and Kaito is sure he’s trying to riddle out why Hattori would knock Kaito out and lock them in a closet together (although, to be fair, nobody quite understands how Hattori’s mind works, anyway), until he sits up and turns to look at Kaito face-to-face, abruptly serious. His voice—well, it doesn’t quite shake, but it does shiver when he starts talking.

“What I said about you being a flirt—you _are_ a flirt, right?” There’s a kind of hesitance to Shinichi’s voice that throws Kaito like a mechanical rodeo bull. When Shinichi sees the confusion on Kaito’s face, he amends, expression hesitant, “You… don’t treat me any differently than you do everyone else, do you?”

For a second, Kaito’s heart stopped before it resumed at a much faster pace. Oh God, had Shinichi figured it out? Was this the part where Shinichi gave him the “I don’t feel that way about you, but thanks for playing” speech before he started subtly avoiding Kaito until they were basically strangers? If that was the case, Kaito was going to go out with dignity.

“Shinichi, you know I don’t treat you like everyone else,” he says frankly. Shinichi goggles at him, as if he doesn’t have more intelligence than all the residents of a small village put together. Kaito tries not to sound too frustrated as he blows out a breath. “Do you know anyone else I call darling? Do you know anyone else I visit at work every day even though it drives everyone at the theater crazy? Do you know anyone else that I’ve been pining after for the last—” He cuts himself off. Okay, that may have been a bit much. He forces himself to exhale slowly.

Shinichi is still blinking at him as if a mushroom has sprouted out of Kaito’s head. Kaito fixes his gaze resolutely at a point over Shinichi’s shoulder and presses his mouth firmly shut. There’s a kind of dread burning behind his eyes.

“Me too,” Shinichi says, voice faint, after a minute, which activates Kaito’s fight or flight reflex with a passion. He unclenches his jaw and forces himself to look at Shinichi, who’s frowning at him with a weird kind of intensity that has Kaito’s heart doing a complicated sequence of leaps.

“What—” he begins, but Shinichi interrupts, more forcefully this time, “Me _too_ ,” and lunges for him. Kaito’s back hits the ground with a thump that jars him from vertebrae to teeth, and his head almost does the same, except Shinichi gets his hands between Kaito’s skull and the carpet to hold him in place as he presses his mouth to Kaito’s. It’s basically the best thing ever, because even though Shinichi gives off that untouchable I Have Better Things to Do Than Engage in Relationships vibe, he apparently learned how to kiss at some point in his life, because wow. _Wow_. When Kaito’s mouth opens around a gasp, Shinichi takes the opportunity to bite down on his bottom lip and surge forward.

“Oh my God,” Kaito manages when they finally break apart. They’re both panting. Shinichi is pink all over, his mouth hanging open just enough for Kaito to get sidetracked looking at it. “You’ve been into me this whole time?”

“If by ‘this whole time’ you mean the last, like, twelve years, then yeah,” Shinichi replies. Kaito stares at him, disbelieving.

“When did you fall in love with me?” he demands. Shinichi pauses to think about it.

“Uh, maybe around the time you jumped out of a blimp to save me,” he says. The look on Kaito’s face must be funny, because he starts smirking in a way that should be annoying but really just comes off as hot.

“You were still Conan then,” Kaito points out, a little faintly. “You’ve been in love with me since you were _Conan_?” He must sound too pleased with himself, because Shinichi gives him a narrow-eyed squint of disapproval.

“Shut up. Just because I was six in body doesn’t mean I didn’t have eyes,” he snarks, but he’s turning even redder along his cheekbones and there’s a hint of a pout starting to take shape around his mouth. Kaito laughs and cups the smooth expanse of Shinichi’s cheek with one hand.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve also been quite besotted with you for nearly as long.” He leans up to press a kiss to the corner of Shinichi’s mouth. “And the last few weeks were absolute hell. The whole thing with the blind date? And Mouri-san and Sera?” He drops his head back against the ground.

“How do you think I felt when you got that note from your secret admirer?” Shinichi sighs. “And the whole thing with the retreat?” He pauses. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. You know I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Well, I do now,” Kaito grins, and motions at where Shinichi is straddling him. He wiggles his eyebrows as suggestively as he can manage. Shinichi rolls his eyes.

“Are you going to always be like this?”

“What, a charming, unbelievably attractive—” Kaito begins before Shinichi dives back in to kiss him quite. Kaito finds that acceptable, although he suspects that Shinichi will be using that technique very often in the future. He can’t really find it in himself to mind, though, especially when Shinichi does _that_ with his tongue.

“Jokes aside,” Shinichi murmurs, pulling away for a second to breathe against Kaito’s lips, “I’m only going to say this once, because God knows your ego doesn’t need feeding, but you really are a charming, unbelievably attractive idiot and I’m in love with you.” And then he reaches down to start unbuttoning Kaito’s shirt.

 _Well_ , Kaito thinks, dazed, as he wraps his arms around the slenderness of Shinichi’s waist to pull them flush together, _this turned out rather well for me._

The air in the room seems to be getting hotter and hotter the longer they lie there making out. One of Shinichi’s hands creeps inside Kaito’s partway open shirt, sliding across Kaito’s skin until it reaches Kaito’s nipple, which Shinichi thumbs thoughtfully at until Kaito whimpers, embarrassingly, into his mouth. Kaito’s never thought of himself as sensitive, but he may have to reconsider that, because every part of him feels sensitized, prickling with awareness, whenever Shinichi touches him.

“Shinichi,” he gasps, breathy, when Shinichi’s hands slide lower down his abdomen, palms rolling against his hips, and Shinichi pulls back to suck a kiss against the hinge of his jaw, hard enough that Kaito moans, suddenly and desperately turned on at the thought of Shinichi leaving marks on him.

He’d mostly been ignoring the growing tightness in his pants, more interested in tracking the progress of Shinichi’s mouth down his chest, but awareness comes snapping back when Shinichi rubs the heel of his hand against the shape of Kaito’s dick. The sound Kaito makes can only be described as a whimper. His legs shake.

“Oh my God,” Kaito says, swallowing audibly. “Sh—” He cuts himself off when Shinichi leans back to look him in the eyes. Shinichi’s mouth is wet, gleaming, his hands pressed against Kaito’s cock, his face flushed red, and Kaito can tell he’s hard from the line of his jeans. He stares unabashedly. This is about eight fantasies put together.

“Shinichi,” he stammers. “Shinichi, what—”

“Can I suck you off?” Shinichi asks in a rush, as if he expects to be rejected. Kaito’s brain short-circuits.

“Uh,” he manages, then, “yeah, yeah, of course,” when Shinichi’s hopeful expression falters. Shinichi hums in satisfaction and slithers down Kaito’s body until his mouth is hovering over the waistband of Kaito’s trousers, never breaking eye contact. With a smirk that makes Kaito’s dick twitch visibly, he kisses the button on Kaito’s pants, winks, and starts to undo Kaito’s zipper. Kaito gawks. He knows he’s basically staring at Shinichi openmouthed like an absolute idiot, but in all of his years pining after Shinichi, he never expected that Shinichi would be this—forward.

It’s, like, brainmeltingly hot.

When Shinichi works Kaito’s underwear down, Kaito’s dick slaps against his stomach with a wet sound that makes Kaito wince. It’s pretty obvious how turned on he is, because his foreskin is completely pulled back to expose the head of his cock, which is red and leaking precome all over himself.

Shinichi doesn’t seem to mind, though, because he licks his lips ( _Dear God,_ Kaito thinks wildly, _please help me not to come in the next two seconds_ ), before he dives in, closing his mouth over the head of Kaito’s dick with a moan of satisfaction.

Kaito wails in surprise, jamming a fist into his mouth to muffle the sound. It feels incredible, Shinichi’s mouth hot and wet around him as he works feverishly with his hands at what he can’t fit. It takes him a second to realize that Shinichi is rocking against Kaito’s leg, the bulge of his dick rubbing against Kaito’s shin. The thought that sucking Kaito off is turning Shinichi on that much hits Kaito with a wave of arousal, and his hips jerk, roughly pushing his cock farther into Shinichi’s mouth.

“Ah, ah, sorry, I,” he gasps, horrified at himself, but Shinichi just whimpers and presses further down, swallowing as much of Kaito’s cock as he can until he chokes and has to pull back a little. He’s making these little noises in the back of his throat, moans and gasps that vibrate against the head of Kaito’s dick, and he ruts against Kaito even faster when Kaito’s hips twitch. He’s definitely the hottest thing Kaito has ever seen.

 “Shinichi,” Kaito manages, over the wet, slick sounds of Shinichi’s mouth. “Shinichi, oh my God.” He reaches down to tangle his hands in Shinichi’s hair, just to feel his head bob. Shinichi whines in response, glancing up at Kaito before he sinks as far down as he can. Kaito exhales sharply, stammering out a moan, when half of his cock ends up wedged down Shinichi’s throat, which flutters around him as Shinichi swallows. It feels so good that Kaito knows without a doubt that he’s about to come. He’d be more embarrassed about it if he could actually think straight.

“Shinichi,” he slurs, nearly sobbing, “I’m gonna—oh God, I’m gonna come, you have to, I’m gonna—” When Shinichi doesn’t move, choosing instead to look up at him with half-lidded, watering eyes as he scrubs his tongue against the underside of Kaito’s cock and sucks so hard it almost hurts, Kaito tugs sharply on his hair, trying to pull him off. Instead, Shinichi’s eyes go wide, and he moans so loudly not even Kaito’s dick is enough to silence him, and then Kaito feels him come, his mouth going slack as wet warmth blooms across Kaito’s knee and his back arches. That’s more than enough to make Kaito come so hard he nearly passes out, spilling in Shinichi’s mouth as he whimpers and clutches at Shinichi’s head.

When it’s over, he lets go and falls back against the ground and spends what feels like a good ten minutes trying to catch his breath. God. Kaito has never had an orgasm like _that_ before. Leave it to Kudou Shinichi to violently surpass all Kaito’s expectations. Sexpectations. _God_.

Once he manages to uncross his eyes, Kaito gets halfway up onto his elbows and ends up staring dopily as Shinichi pulls off, throat working to swallow, which makes his dick twitch and leak another bit of come against his stomach. Because he actually wants to kill Kaito, Shinichi makes a point of leaning in to lick him clean.

Kaito’s cock tries valiantly to get hard again. Kaito can’t blame it.

“We could’ve been doing that for years,” Shinichi says after a minute of catching his breath. His voice sounds as if he drank a gallon of sand. With a sigh, he wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand and sits back. The front of his pants are soaked, which he seems to notice, judging by the way he winces and moves to take them off. Kaito waits until he’s naked before he pounces.

Shinichi goes easily, lifting an eyebrow at Kaito once Kaito has him pinned. He stretches luxuriously beneath Kaito’s hands, showing off the smooth planes of his stomach.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks, though he doesn’t sound concerned. He sounds amused, like the little seducer he is.

“Payback,” Kaito announces before he settles in to do just that.

* * *

“Hattori-kun,” Ran begins, deadly serious as she looks around the room at the similarly subdued faces of her friends, “can never know that his plan worked.”


End file.
